


Our love ain't water under the bridge

by SmilinStar



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5285537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh honey, trust me,” Xo says softly, “Michael still loves you. He never stopped. Not for a single moment.” A post 2x07 fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our love ain't water under the bridge

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly from Adele's 'Water Under the Bridge', because I couldn't not think of Jane x Michael whilst listening to it on repeat.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Jane considers and reconsiders this many times over.

 

She tells herself that she isn't doing this because she's still in love with him.

 

(Because she's not. Really.)

 

She isn't doing this because she's pissed off at Rafael.

 

(Though she is. Really.)

 

She's doing this because it's the right thing to do, and that's just the way her mom and her abuela raised her. To do the right thing.

 

And anyway, it feels like the universe is literally pushing her to do this. As why else would she spot Michael running out in the park at the same time she decides to take Mateo for a stroll and deviate from her usual route? It's divine intervention.

 

(Of course it is.)

 

She's sitting on the park bench, Mateo in her lap as she points out the ducks in the pond, explaining to her six month old son how all the ducks go 'quack quack' because naturally it's all important stuff babies need to learn. Just how cows also go 'moo moo' and sheep go 'baa baa', and somehow she ends up sitting there singing _Old MacDonald had a farm_ and ignoring the various assortment of glances that get thrown her way.

 

It's then of course that she notices him; earphones dangling around his neck, rather than in his ears, perspiration staining the grey of his t-shirt, flushed pink with the exertion.

 

Her chest does this funny little lurch, almost as if her heart shudders to a stop for an infinitesimally small second.

 

The path leads right in front of her and she knows he'll be right there, in front of her, after all this time.

 

(Six months, add a few more days, several hours.)

 

Because that one brief moment in Target, on Black Friday, really doesn't count.

 

And she tries really hard not to think about it, puts it out of her mind, because then he's here. In three, two, one . . .

 

“Hi,” she blurts out, watches as he slows to a stop and he spins around at the sound of her voice.

 

“Jane?”

 

“Hi Michael,” she says again, giving him a little wave.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Out running huh? Keeping in shape?” she grimaces as the words come out of her mouth, because what is she, _twelve?_

His face is painfully blank, not even a hint of a smile as he nods, “Yeah, something like that.”

 

“That's . . . great.”

 

More awkward silence.

 

“Well anyway,” Michael begins to say and she knows what's coming, “I gotta get going, so . . .”

 

“Yeah sure. Of course.”

 

She watches him nod, turn to leave and that's when she does it, because it's the right thing to do and he deserves to know the truth.

 

“You were right.”

 

He stops again, turns his head back in her direction and she can see the wariness all over his face, and it hurts more than it should.

 

“About what?”

 

She takes a breath, “Rafael. You were right. He was the one who turned you in, paid a guy to do it for him.”

 

He looks away from her as the words register, purses his lips as he looks to the ground and nods. After a long moment he lets out a breath and meets her gaze, “Thank you for telling me.”

 

And there is so much more that she wants to tell him, but all she can manage is, “Michael, I-” but then Mateo starts crying and she's having to bounce him around on her knee to hush him.

 

“Michael-” she tries again, but this time it's him that interrupts her.

 

“Jane,” he says, eyes fixed on Mateo, “I appreciate you telling me, but it doesn't really change anything, does it?”

 

And what he means is:

 

_I still lost my temper._

_And Mateo still got hurt._

_And you've moved on, haven't you?_

_And so have I._

 

(Except strike a line through those last two, because _please_ . . .)

 

“Right. No of course not. I just thought you should know.”

 

“Well thank you.” And then, “Take care Jane.”

 

And this time he does leave, and she's left watching his back as he goes.

 

Mateo starts up again, she lifts him up and presses him against her chest, hand smoothing over his hair as she whispers soothingly into his ear, “I know baby.”

 

(Because mommy wants to cry too.)

 

“I know.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Michael doesn't remember getting home.

 

Just remembers pushing himself harder than he ever had before, everything rushing past him in a blur, just running on pure instinct alone.

 

His legs are burning as he stumbles in through the front door of his apartment, gulping and gasping for air with each deep, heaving breath. His t-shirt is completely soaked through and he has half a mind to toss it away in the garbage can instead of sticking it in the wash.

 

_“_ _You were right.”_

The words echo around his head.

 

Surprisingly there's no satisfaction that comes along with the words. Because what he'd said to Jane still stands true.

 

It doesn't change anything.

 

Everything ended with him throwing that first punch.

 

And it may have been in a fit of irrationality, a haze of anger that clouded his judgement, a moment of temporary insanity that was completely unlike him, but it had still happened. And he can't go back in time to change that.

 

He's not sure how Jane can ever forgive him.

 

Not when he can't forgive himself.

 

He hadn't really needed Rafael to pull the pin.

 

No, he had imploded all by himself and he thinks it'll take him a lifetime to pick up all the pieces.

 

And Jane and Mateo deserve more than that.

 

They deserve more than him.

 

And anyway, he tells himself, he's moved on.

 

He has.

 

(Liar.)

 

 

\-----

 

 

The phone buzzes again, vibrating against the wood of the table and she doesn't have to look away from the screen of her laptop to know who's calling.

 

“Are you really not gonna get that? It might be important.”

 

She looks up at her mom standing there, eyebrow arched with a pointed stare.

 

Jane swipes red across her phone and rejects the phone call again.

 

Xo breathes out a deep sigh, pulls the chair across from her and sits down.

 

“Honey, you really can't ignore him forever. He's Mateo's father.”

 

“I know Mom, okay. I know, but I just can't talk to him right now.”

 

Jane tries not to focus on the concern etched all over her mother's face, and tries to focus on churning out the words of her assignment instead. Except, it's harder than it should be. Not just because the words are failing her right now, and thoughts of Michael and Rafael are whirring in her brain, but it may also have a lot to do with the fact the screen has gotten all blurry with the hot tears pooling in her eyes.

 

“Aw Janey,” her mother says softly, and before she knows it, she's by her side pulling her into her arms.

 

And it's enough for the walls to crack and for everything to seep through.

 

“I'm so angry Mom!” she rants through the tears, “I'm so angry at Rafael for lying to me. I'm angry at Michael for being so stupid and reckless in the first place and ruining it all. Ruining what we could have had. I'm angry at myself for trying to convince myself that I've moved on, that I don't love him, when I _do_. I do love him. I love him so much and he doesn't care about me any more. He's moved on and I still _can't_!”

 

“Oh honey, trust me,” Xo says softly, “Michael still loves you. He never stopped. Not for a single moment.”

 

“You don't know that. You didn't see his face.”

 

“I do know Jane.”

 

She pulls back, cups her face in her hands and meets her gaze. She looks back with wet, confused eyes, silently asking the question, _how?_

 

“Do you remember when I told you Michael helped your abuela by stopping her deportation?”

 

Jane nods.

 

“Well, when I spoke to him over the phone to thank him, and he asked me not to tell you, I asked him if he still loved you, and he said yes.”

 

Her eyes close and more tears slip out and down her cheek. Xo wipes them away before continuing, “He told me that he never stopped and that he always would, because you two are meant to be.”

 

“He said that?”

 

Her mother nods.

 

“But that was before-”

 

“Jane,” she interrupts, “Trust me. He loves you.”

 

“But-”

 

“Jane. Looking after your own heart won't make you a bad mom. Michael made a mistake, he knows that. But ask yourself if he would ever intentionally hurt Mateo?”

 

“No of course not,” she answers, knowing it to be a truth as steady as the thump of her own heart, “But Rafael is Mateo's father and I can't let him grow up in an environment with that kind of tension between them, it's not fair to him.”

 

“I agree. So tell them _both_ to man up. And I think you'll find, for the chance to have you in their lives, they'd both be willing to swallow their prides.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“I know so.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

It's like some perpetual joke. And it's always on him.

 

Of course Mutter happens to be Luisa's mother, and so naturally, of course his investigations bring him back to the Marbella.

 

Except, he's supposed to be undercover and without a badge attached to his belt, trying to come up with a plausible excuse as to why he wants to stay in Rafael Solano's hotel of all places is pretty freaking impossible.

 

“Michael? What are you doing here?”

 

“Rafael,” he says in greeting, “How are you doing?”

 

To his credit, he doesn't buy it, and stares him down.

 

“Look, my place flooded, and I needed a place to stay for a couple of days while they fix it, okay?”

 

“Right,” Rafael drawls out, and there's a mixture of suspicion and a little hint of smugness in his expression. It's really quite impressive, not that Michael would ever tell him so.

 

But there is something else he needs to say.

 

And it's long overdue.

 

“Listen,” he starts, “About what happened-”

 

“You mean when you accused me of ratting you out to your bosses, punched me in the face, and Mateo got hurt?”

 

He takes a calming breath, “Yeah, that. I was wrong, and I'm sorry.”

 

“Sorry because you lost Jane, sorry because Mateo got hurt or sorry for actually punching me?”

 

“All of the above.”

 

And for some reason, he thinks it just pisses him off further. Rafael clenches his jaw and looks away, “What are you even doing here man?”

 

“I told you.”

 

“Yeah, and I don't believe you.”

 

“Look believe what you want Rafael, but I'm really not interested in whatever the hell this is. I'm over it. And why do you even care, anyway? You got Jane, didn't you? What more do you want?”

 

He avoids his gaze and doesn't answer the question.

 

(The answer being Rafael didn't get Jane. Because no, Jane's heart had always been his. Not that he knows it and not that Rafael can admit it.)

 

In any case, Rafael is saved by a very familiar and surprised “Hey!”

 

(Speaking of Jane.)

 

“What are you guys doing?” Jane asks, looking between the two men, clearly surprised and also just a little wary.

 

“Michael's place is flooded, and he needed a hotel room, so naturally he chose the Marbella.”

 

If she catches the underlying accusation, she chooses to ignore it, “Oh I'm sorry Michael. That's awful.”

 

“No it's okay. It'll only take a couple of days to fix.”

 

“Well that's great,” Rafael says.

 

“Yeah well. I'll um leave you guys to it.”

 

He turns and walks away then. He certainly doesn't notice Jane's lingering stare, or notice Rafael noticing the expression on her face or notice the moment the other man finally realises the truth and admits defeat.

 

(Because yes Rafael, Jane loves Michael. #MoveOn)

 

 

\-----

 

 

“What was that about?” Jane asks as they enter Rafael's suite.

 

The tension between the two men had been palpable across the foyer when she'd first spotted them. Her doubts had instantly reared their ugly heads again and she had had to shove them back in their box with her mom's words.

 

“Nothing,” Rafael answers, taking Mateo off her and avoiding her gaze.

 

“Really?”

 

He sits down on the couch, Mateo sitting on his knees, facing him.

 

He sighs, long and deep, the smile aimed at their son dropping as he looks up at her, “No. Michael wanted to apologise for what happened.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She thinks that sensation in her chest, is her heart twisting itself in knots.

 

“Rafael . . .” she starts but he cuts her off, and it feels like that time months and months ago when she'd made her choice.

 

“Room 341,” he says.

 

“What?”

 

“It's where he's staying.”

 

She feels the tears welling up again and its guilt. She'd never meant for anyone to get hurt in all this.

 

“Look Jane. We probably won't ever see eye to eye, but for your sake I'm willing to get along with the guy, because you . . . you love him, and well if you love him, he can't be all bad, can he?”

 

She thinks her heart untwists then.

 

“Rafael-”

 

“Go.”

 

She steps forward towards them, kisses her son on his head and grabs hold of Rafael's hand and squeezes once. Hopes that everything she wants to say to him gets across in that one touch.

 

“Go,” he says again.

 

And this time she does.

 

 

\-----

 

 

He tries not to think about Jane and Rafael and Mateo playing happy families, but it's a bad habit he's adopted over these last six months. And it's his favourite game to see how long he can torture himself with it.

 

(Hours, apparently.)

 

And so he tries to forget, concentrates on setting up the surveillance equipment instead.

 

Intel that filtered through to the station earlier that day had suggested that Luisa had figured out her mother was alive and had made some not so discreet attempts to reach out to her. It was only a matter of time before Mutter responded.

 

A team had already bugged her room, and now it was just a case of waiting it out.

 

(Which yes, he could do at the station but apparently they needed a man on the ground just in case she showed up unannounced. #HowInconvenient)

 

It's while he's plugging in the computer that he hears the knock on his door.

 

Immediately on guard, he calls out, “Who is it?”

 

“Hi,” comes the very recognisable voice, “It's Jane.”

 

And there's instant panic, as his head drops down, chin to chest and he takes a deep breath.

 

It's fine, he tells himself. He'll just talk to her outside the door.

 

But he forgets one key thing. He may know Jane, but Jane knows him just as well. And so when he opens the door and sticks his head out, blocking her view and says, “Hey Jane! What's up?”

 

(Seriously, Cordero? Seriously?)

 

She knows _something's up_ straight away.

 

“Hey Michael, can we talk?”

 

“Sure,” he nods, “Um it's just now's really-”

 

“Oh I'm sorry,” Jane says, face once hesitant, nervous, _hopeful_ , now alarmed and horrified, “I'm sorry, you're with someone-”

 

“No!” he yells out in a panic, “God no Jane! No, no, no!”

 

(Ah shit.)

 

He blows out a breath, “Fine,” before grabbing hold of her arm and tugging her inside.

 

“Wha – at?”

 

She looks around the room, eyes wide and turns back to him, and simply says;

 

“Start talking.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

She sits there and listens to him talk.

 

He explains just what went down, how he nearly got fired for that stunt he pulled with Nadine but at the last moment got pulled into going undercover. His hunt for Sin Rostro over the last few months, and what had finally culminated in Nadine taking a bullet for him and him being pulled from the field.

 

Her heart is in her throat when she hears there had been a bullet with his name on it, and can barely process the thought of him in that kind of danger.

 

He won't tell her what he's doing here, says he can't put her at risk like that, that he shouldn't have even told her he's undercover in the first place.

 

“Then why did you?”

 

“Because,” he laughs, and it's so bitter, “I'm selfish. I couldn't stand the thought of you thinking for a second longer that I'd moved on, because I _haven't_ Jane. How can I?”

 

And there are those tears again as she processes just what he's saying.

 

“You're asking the wrong person,” she whispers, holding his gaze.

 

She sees it. The moment the meaning of her words sink in – a flicker of hope, sparkling blue.

 

Still, he asks. Just to be sure. “Rafael?”

 

She bites her lip, shakes her head.

 

There's the beginnings of a smile on his lips, and knows there's one on hers.

 

“Jane . . .” he says, and her heart does that stupid fluttery thing again in her chest as he reaches out and grabs hold of both her hands, “When this is all over, can we . . . do you think we could . . .”

 

(Try again?)

 

It doesn't matter that he can't get the words out; from her beaming smile, he has a sneaking suspicion she knows just what he's asking.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes?”

 

She nods, “Yeah.”

 

“Awesome.”

 

She laughs.

 

And because it's been entirely too long, she doesn't think about it too hard. Merely leans forward and presses her lips to his and melts away like snowflakes.

 

His hands reach up to cup her face, tangling in her hair and when he pulls away, he's still close enough that she's breathing him in.

 

“That's gonna have to last you awhile,” he says.

 

She groans, forehead dropping to his, “This is not gonna to be fun.”

 

He laughs, presses another kiss to her skin and simply says, “What's another few months?”

 

(What's another few months indeed?

 

#Torture)

 

 

 

 

 **End.**  

 


End file.
